


Wish list

by Ewebie



Category: Martin Freeman - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes baking gets a little out of hand...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish list

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little ficlit smut for thiscaringsociopath... Congrats on the new job, my dear!

“Have you put together your wish list yet? A letter for Santy?” he asked with a wry smile.

I rolled my eyes and shot him a glance over my shoulder, “Please, Martin. I stopped writing those letters years ago.” I turned back to my work spread over the kitchen island.

I could hear him come up behind me; clearly he was making no attempt at stealth. “No letter?” his arms slid around my waist as he rested his chin in the crook of my neck. “You’re going to end up with a lump of coal in your stocking.”

I tried not to giggle as his rough stubble tickled my cheek. I tried… “Martin, stop.”

He pressed kiss behind my ear, “Stop what?” His mouth moved slowly down the side of my neck, pausing only when he reached the collar of my shirt to retrace his path upwards. “You’re so sexy, baking in your tatty jeans and tee-shirt.”

I groaned and rested my head back against his shoulder as he took his time, paying particular attention to the sensitive skin at the corner of my jaw. “Martin,” I whined. “You’re going to ruin the cookies.”

“No,” he purred against my neck. “You’re going to ruin the cookies.”

“We’re going to have guests,” I pleaded.

“Sod the guests,” his left hand slid easily from my waist to cup my breast as pressed against me from behind. “This is more fun.”

I gasped and dropped the pastry bag before I accidently emptied all of the icing onto the baking tray. “We… We can’t sod them.” If he kept nipping my neck like that, he was going to leave a mark. “They’re my relatives, Martin. And I swear to God, if you give me a hickey…”

I didn’t have time to finish the thought. He spun me around, his weight pinning me against the island, and he planted both hands on the counter beside my hips. “You have a dirty fucking mind,” he raised his brows and wet his lips in one quick motion.

“And you have a dirty fucking mouth,” I shot back. “I have to finish these, and I have to shower and change. They’re going to be here in a few hours.”

“I know,” he said briskly. “And I know, because you’ve mentioned that every few minutes for the past week. And you’ve been faffing about, cleaning things, and moving things around, and being a genuine, little, shitty ball of stress about it. And frankly, it’s fucking ridiculous.”

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. “It’s not ridiculous!”

“It is ridiculous,” he said with finality, staring at me nose-to-nose. “Because they’re not going to care. They’re family. They won’t give a shit if you get a chance to dust the telly again, so fucking stop.” I bit my lower lip. Hard. I did it to keep from yelling at him. Little shit, telling me I’m ridiculous. Both of his hands rose from the counter to cup my face. “Don’t pout,” he rested his forehead against mine. “It’s too damn adorable and I’m trying to be serious.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, releasing my lip.

He made a small tisking sound and pressed his lips against mine. It was a soft kiss, gentle and calming, until he started nibbling on my lower lip, running his tongue along the margin as he trapped it between his teeth. I released an embarrassingly loud sigh when he finally pulled away. “Ok?” he raised a single brow.

“Ok,” I nodded. He half pursed his lips and his brows drew together. “What?” He continued to examine my face for another moment without a word. It was making me nervous. “What? What’s wrong?”

His tongue swept out over his lower lip again and his mouth bloomed into a wide smile. “You’ve got something on your face.”

“What?”

He chuckled. “Just… There.” His hand waved vaguely in my direction.

“Where?” I swept the back of my hand across my forehead. A white stripe of frosting smudged off. “Oh crap,” I muttered. “Do I have frosting on my face?!”

His eyes twinkled as he grinned. “Yes, yes you do,” he broke into a laugh.

I looked at my hands, flipping them from back to front. They were rather clean. How did I get frosting on my face?! “Crap!” He swept his thumb across my cheek and it came away with not an insignificant amount of icing. “How?”

Martin carefully sucked the icing from his thumb, watching me, a shockingly innocent look on his face. “Messy,” he mumbled around his thumb. “White stuff everywhere.” I blushed again, the thoughts running through my head far more inappropriate than necessary. His eyebrow quirked momentarily, not missing the heat suffusing my face. He made that soft tisking sound again, “Naughty.”

“I… um…” His proximity was distracting. I felt myself tilting back as he invaded my personal space. Drawing it out, making him chase me, pulling him in. He didn’t break eye contact, the deep blue of his irises growing dark. The movement of his tongue peeking out distracted me as his lips brushed against mine. “I have to finish the cookies,” I whispered.

He cleared his throat and pulled back far enough that I could straighten up. His lips pursed, “Well don’t let me stop you.” He placed a hand on either side of my hips and spun me back to the island. “These cookies seem so important.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, thinking I could cool myself down. My breath hitched as his fingertips snuck beneath the hem of my shirt. “What are you…”

He leaned forward, his palm sliding underneath my shirt, across my belly. “Cookies,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re supposed to be finishing the cookies.” When I didn’t move, he freed his hand and reached around me to collect the pastry bag of icing. He deftly twisted the top and frosted one of the circular cookies with ease. “See? Easy peasy.”

I took the bag from him and glanced down at the cookie. “Did you just ice a penis onto that cookie?”

He chuckled darkly, his hands returned to their previous place, sweeping upwards under my shirt to palm my breasts. “Maybe.” He nipped at my ear. “Maybe I’ve other things on my mind.” He found my nipple through the lace of my bra and rolled it between his fingertips. “Then again, maybe I’m trying to send you a message.” His breath was heavy on my neck as his hips pressed against my ass. I groaned and tried to focus on the job, but there was no way. “Cookies?” he said again, his lips closing over my earlobe. “Or you can let me fuck the ever-loving shit out of you.”

My head tipped back again and I fumbled with the bag, dropping it onto the tray and reaching a hand up to weave my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You were going to do that anyway,” I mumbled as one hand released a breast and fell lower, sliding down my stomach and dipping below the waistband of my jeans. God he knew what he was doing.

“I’ll bet you’re wet already.” His fingers curled against the outside of my panties and slid back and forth.

“Spoiled brat,” I braced myself with a hand on the counter top and pushed back against him.

“You’re so fucking sexy when you’re asking for trouble.”

I dropped my hand from the nape of his neck and slipped it up along his thigh. He tried to capture it between our bodies, but he couldn’t stop me from palming his erection. “Cad.”

A sound like a growl came from low in his throat and he spun me away from the counter, pressing me up against the wall. I let out a startled eep as he followed, pinning me in place with his body. His mouth stopped a fraction of an inch from mine “So much trouble.”

Managed to suck in a breath before his mouth was on me. His mouth slanted over mine, firmly, methodically exploring the corners of my mouth. I moaned softly, my fingers curling in his shirt as my knees turned to mush. He still tasted like frosting, and I tried to suck the sweet off of his tongue. He braced himself: one hand on my hip, his thumb stroking under the fabric of my shirt, tickling along the waistband of my pants and moving progressively higher; the other hand firmly cupping the back of my neck, keeping my face tilted toward his; and his knee slid between my legs, drawing me up ever-so-slightly onto my toes. I couldn’t have moved away from him if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t.

I gasped, a shiver racing through me as his thumb brushed across the lower edge of my bra. He took the opportunity to let me catch my breath and explore the side of my neck with his mouth. His teeth scraped the soft skin at the underside of my jaw and I caught my breath sharply. If it weren’t for the wall at my back, I’d have been a puddle on the floor at this point. His hand tangled in my shirt and he growled, pulling back just far enough to drag the tee-shirt over my head and toss it angrily on the floor.

In spite of the dark look in his eyes, I giggled at the temper tantrum. Both of my hands were resting on his hips and he carefully collected them, passing my wrists into one palm and slowly raising his arm to pin them to the door over my head. My face naturally tilted up towards him as he leaned in close, but he didn’t come close enough to kiss. He watched my face, his eyes locking on mine in a way that had a ball of tension coiling in the pit of my stomach. The backs of his fingers grazed the patch of flesh just below my belly button and I shivered at the contact. But his hand continued on to support his weight on the wall. He was torturing me; that’s what he was doing.

Martin’s head tilted as he stooped, his lips brushing past mine. He pressed a light peck to the corner of my mouth and pulled back a fraction of an inch as I turned to follow him. His lips were just out of my reach, and I was already as high on my toes as I could go. I twisted my wrists in his grip and whined, “Martin.” He didn’t let me go.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm on my cheek. I wanted him to kiss me. I needed him to kiss me. “So,” his finger traced an imaginary line down my arm. “Much,” it continued on across my collarbone, and down into the valley between my breasts. “Trouble,” he finished, drawing a lazy circle around my breast.

I was panting, my body twitching for his touch. Oh God, why wouldn’t he kiss me?! His hand closed suddenly around the full flesh of my breast and I gasped, arching into his palm. His leg pressed up more firmly between mine and I nearly lost my balance, barely keeping both feet on the ground. His hand continued to move, kneading the sensitive mound of my breast. But he maintained his distance from my mouth. Ducking first close then away from me, his lips passing back and forth, just out of my reach. He pinched my nipple through the lace of my bra, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and I groaned. “Martin, please.”

 “Please what?” his voice had taken on a gravelly tone that had me shuddering inwardly. His hand left my breast and I sagged back against the wall, trying to control the trembling in my legs. My relief or reprieve was short lived as his hand stroked down my belly, his fingertips hooking in the waist of my pants. He gave a slight tug and friction from straddling his thigh drew a startled moan from me. He grinned. “Please. What?”

I squirmed, trying to free my arms, trying to get close enough to kiss him, trying to relieve some of the pressure on my clit where he incessantly pressed his thigh. I opened my mouth, but couldn’t muster the sense to form an answer. His fingers deftly released the button of my jeans and the zipper gave way as his palm slid lower against my belly, the tips of his fingers sweeping along the outside of my panties. Whatever sense I had left in my brain evaporated instantly. I closed my eyes and moaned; it seemed to be just about all I could coordinate in my body. That’s when his tongue swept along my lower lip.

I may have stopped breathing momentarily, but when I opened my eyes, he was staring down at me, his expression a muddle of lust and amusement. I sucked in a quick breath. “Martin, you have three seconds to…” I gasped as his fingers curled against the outside of my panties.

“Yes?”

“God fucking damnit,” I breathed, losing my concentration.

He chuckled darkly, his hand continuing to play lightly along my panties. “You were saying?”

My breath caught in my throat as a single finger hooked in the leg elastic of my knickers, the back of his knuckle skimming the crease of my thigh. “For fuck’s sake, Martin.” He chuckled again, his breath warm on my face, but he was still infuriatingly out of reach.

His teeth scraped my earlobe, and I whimpered. I could feel the muscles in my arms trembling from the strain of pulling against his hold and I felt like I was on sensory overload. “You have a dirty fucking mouth,” he whispered before running his tongue along the curve of my ear.

“You have a dirty fucking mouth!” My whole body shuddered and I released a cry of frustration. “For the love of God, Martin. Just please, fucking kiss me!”

There was that soft, deep laugh of his again. “So polite,” I could feel his lips move against mine as he spoke and I couldn’t focus on anything but the sensation of that barely there touch.

“Cookies?” I whispered, as though the very threat of me going back to the decorating was possible.

His head snapped up so quickly, I nearly knocked my head into the wall avoiding getting clocked. Then his lips were on mine. I moaned into his mouth as he clearly tried to kiss the very breath from me. His tongue swept into my mouth, invading, demanding, and punishing. My tongue battled back, sliding along his, vying for position before I yielded. I sucked on his tongue before he took it back to nip at my bottom lip. His free hand tugged out of my jeans and his knee dropped from beneath me; were it not for the firm grip he maintained on my wrists, I’d have crumpled to the floor. He pushed at the waist of my jeans, edging them off my hips and using every means necessary, he tugged them clear down to the floor. I barely managed to get my feet clear of them before he hooked his hand under my knee and pulled it up to his hip. With something I could only describe as practiced confidence, he shifted his grip, taking the weight of my leg into the crook of his elbow, freeing his hand again.

I found myself balanced precariously on the toes of one foot, the opposite leg wrapped high around his hip, my arms still pinned to the wall, wearing just my panties and bra. Martin’s eyes swept slowly from the lace of my panties, along my tummy, past my breasts to my face. I tried to mask the tremor in my voice, but I’m sure I wasn’t successful. “Like what you see?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he rested his forehead against mine. His fingers swept lazily up and down the crotch of my panties and my breath left in a whoosh. Up and back. Up and back. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. “I love what I see,” he growled. His fingers pushed my panties aside and deftly parted my lower lips. I gasped his name and he promptly silenced me, his mouth feasting on mine. His tongue swept into my mouth as he plunged a finger deep inside me. I moaned against his lips, losing myself in the sensations. The feel of his shirt and jeans brushed roughly against my skin, scraping across the lace that covered my already sensitized nipples and sending a shiver down my spine.

I wrapped my leg firmly around his waist and drew him even closer, his weight pressing me into the door. A second finger quickly joined the first and I bucked against his hand, tearing my mouth from his to draw in some much needed air. His mouth trailed along my jaw and I whimpered, “God, Martin.” He growled low in his throat, finally releasing my wrists. My arms dropped to his shoulders and I wrapped them around his neck, digging my fingers into his hair. His now freed hand cupped my chin, tilting my head back and exposing my neck to his lips. What had been a ball of tension in my stomach grew to pull my entire body into a taught wire of nerves.

My breathless panting turned into cries as his thumb drew ever-shrinking circles around my swollen clit and my legs began to tremble, though not from exhaustion. “You’re going to notify the neighbours,” he whispered sharply, his mouth covering mine as his hand dropped from my chin to my breast and he squeezed possessively.

My back arched and I keened loudly against his lips. His thumb pressed firmly against my clit as his fingers curled forward inside of me. I came hard, his mouth barely able to muffle the sound of my scream. His fingers continued to stroke in and out of me, driving my orgasm on as my body quaked. My whole body shuddered and sagged as he finally slid his fingers from my panties. I whimpered and tried to unclench my fingers from the back of his neck, the aftershocks of my orgasm alternately leaving my joints in spasm. Martin’s hand stroked lightly up and down the sensitive skin of my tummy, both soothing and exasperating at the same time.

He rested his forehead against mine, “Fucking incredible.”

I panted, struggling to catch my breath. “You little shit,” I hissed.

He laughed warmly and stooped to collect my tee-shirt from the floor. He held it out to me with a wry smile. “Your gown, Madame.”

I blinked at him heavily and took the worn cotton from him. “Are you serious?”

He nodded and pulled a stool up next to the island, perching and shifting on the seat as I pulled the shirt back on. He cleared his throat as I bent over to get my jeans. I shot him a look over my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I murmured as I managed to get them back up over my hips. “Something distracting you?”

He sighed and propped his elbow on the corner of the island. His chin was cupped in his palm as he drummed his fingers over his lips. “No, no. Please carry on.”

I followed his gaze to a white, icing handprint standing out against the dark of my shirt. “Martin!” I pressed my lips together, trying to come up with a stern glare, but only managed a suppressed smile.

He picked up a cookie, the one with his handprint in it, and took a bite. “These are good!” his face twisted into exaggerated surprise.

I sighed and leaned across the island. “Did you do that just to get a free cookie?”

“Nothing’s free,” he winked.

“You ok,” my eyes flicked down as I winced slightly, “waiting?”

He laughed. “Asshole.”

I pecked his cheek. “I… I have a favour to ask.”

“A favour?” he returned to drumming his fingers on his lips. “What kind of a favour?”

“I need you to not cuss in front of my nephew.”

“Not cuss?”

I nodded and tugged a little on his belt. “Yeah. He’s only two, and he’s really clever, and he repeats everything he hears.”

He heaved a sigh. “It would be a Christmas miracle.”

“Put it on my wish list?”

 

~o~

 

There was always something magical about holiday dinners. Maybe it was the cold weather outside, maybe it was fairy lights, maybe the alcohol, but everything had a warm glow to it. And after the dinner, we were amusing ourselves just watching Joey toddle around the room, chatting to himself and staring at the Christmas tree.

My brother leaned back in his chair with a grin, “I’m going to have to loosen my belt,” he laughed at me.

“Are you going to play Santa for Joey this year?” I asked.

“Santa, Santa, Santa,” came the chant from knee level.

We all laughed.

“You normally have boxes of cookies,” my sister-in-law started. “Just getting started?”

I rolled my eyes. “I had more; they just… They weren’t child friendly in their decoration.” My brother raised a brow and I shrugged. “You know Martin. He was graphic with the snowmen.”

We laughed again.

“Where’d Martin go?” my brother asked. “He’d normally have some choice words to defend himself.”

“Words, words, words,” more musical chanting as Joey hugged an enormous teddy bear.

I was about to shrug when Martin returned. I glanced up and blushed as he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorjamb. My brother and his wife laughed. Yes, it was amusing; Martin, loitering there, a big, red Christmas bow held between his lips, and a tee-shirt that read ‘Do Not Open ‘Till Christmas.’ I broke a smile as he grinned around the bow. “You adorable little shit,” I murmured.

“Hey!” my brother snapped.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Martin chuckled.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Oh… Fuck…

 

 

\---

  
And a very special thanks to [freemanor](http://freemanor.tumblr.com/) for the [edits](http://freemanor.tumblr.com/post/68696381348), which I completely took (with permission), and inspired this whole dirty thought process...

 


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